Weeks had passed since that afternoon by the lake, and you had now grown very comfortable in your new home. Ms. Cuthbert had come around and now allowed you to call her Marilla, and they even let you take their last name- you were now known to the world as Oliver Wood-Cuthbert.

You sat in the den, as you usually did this time in the afternoon, sprawled across the loveseat with a copy of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. This was your favorite time of day, the little lull before you and Matthew went out to feed the animals again. The wood-burning stove crackled quietly, staving off the crisp autumn chill that was beginning to settle in over Avonlea. Ms. Cuthbert could be heard in the kitchen, a soft clattering of pans and creaking cupboards every now and then as she prepared dinner. Matthew, sitting across the room from you in his armchair, puffed on his tobacco pipe as he idly leafed through the daily newspaper. Over the past few weeks, you and Matthew had become quite good friends; you two always chatted as you helped him around the barn, and sometimes you'd make up stories to pass the time. You were really at home.

That night at dinner, Marilla was very chatty- this usually meant that she had something to say, and was figuring out just how to do it. Finally, it came.

"Oliver," Marilla cleared her throat, placing her fork down onto her plate and folding her hands. "Matthew and I have been talking. And-," she looked to him, as if for reassurance, and he nodded at her. "Well, we think it might be a good idea for you to begin attending school."

You shot up out of your seat, overcome with excitement. "Really?"

They both nodded, and Matthew chuckled at your reaction. "We thought you might like that."

While you were overjoyed at the notion, your happy expression began to fade and you lowered yourself back into your seat. "I can't do that."

"And why not?" Marilla raised an eyebrow.

"I can't abandon my responsibilities. There would be no one to help Matthew around the farm." Your looked down at your plate, poking at your food with your fork.

"Well, we think if you're willing to get up extra early and just do the feeding before school, then it should be fine. Matthew and I can handle the rest." Marilla's featured softened into a small smile, but she quickly returned to her practical self. "That being said, I want you to work hard in school. You're a smart boy, I want you to apply yourself."

You looked up in awe, your eyes growing watery. "Oh, thank you so much!" You sprung from your seat, making your way to the other side of the table and enveloping Marilla in a big hug, followed by Matthew. You had never been able to regularly attend school, and now you would finally have the chance.

The next morning you rose extra early, getting all your farm chores done while it was still dark outside. After cleaning up, you put on your best set of clothes; a long-sleeve white button-up, and oatmeal-colored knit vest, with dark brown pants, suspenders, and a tweed cap. Tucking your books into your school bag, your quickly descended the stairs. Marilla was already awake, presumably making her morning cup of tea, and she handed you a packaged lunch and wished you luck as you left.

The walk to school was a considerable distance, and a bit chilly. The leaves had changed, and the soon-to-be-bare trees no longer had their crisp white blossoms like they did when you first arrived on the island. You were lost in your own thoughts for a while, wondering and worrying about all the new experiences a school day would entail. What if no one wanted to sit with you? What if you didn't know the material? Somehow you hadn't thought about any of this before. It wasn't long before your destination was upon you, and you could already see other kids hiking up the hill to the schoolhouse. Taking a deep breath, you did the same.

The bell rang as soon as you entered, and immediately two dozen sets of eyes were fixated on you. Your heart dropped when you saw Billy and his gang to your left, looking at you smugly. And in the row behind him, also looking in your direction, was none other than Gilbert. It was the picnic all over again.

"Mr. Wood, I presume." An unnecessarily condescending and slightly scornful voice at the front of the room commanded your attention. You looked up to see your teacher, Mr. Phillips; he had a tall, slim build, and one of those ridiculous mustaches that curled up on the ends. "I hope you don't make a habit of being tardy."

"I'm, uh, sorry sir." You stammered, your heart going a mile a minute.

He eyed you skeptically, then turned back to face the chalkboard as if you were no longer of interest. "Take that empty seat next to Mr. Blythe, please."

Oh, shit.

You looked over at Gilbert, who already had a warm grin on his face and patted the seat next to him. You quickly took the seat, and directed your attention to the blackboard. In your periphery, you could feel him looking at you still, and there was that sort of tension when someone wanted to talk to you but didn't know exactly what to say.

"I don't think we were ever formally introduced." He whispered, leaning in so as to not be noticed by the teacher. You didn't say anything. "I'm Gilbert Blythe."

You didn't want to ignore him, but you didn't want to get in any deeper trouble with the teacher. "Oliver Wood." you replied stoically, still looking straight ahead.

"Well, nice to meet you, Oliver." He nodded, and then leaned back, probably taking the hint.

He didn't speak to you for the rest of class, and pretty soon the bell rang for lunch. You exited the schoolhouse quickly, filing out with everyone else. Not wanting to disturb the pecking order, you took a seat under the tall dogwood tree on the other side of the small creek that ran across the schoolyard. Everyone seemed to have their place; Billy and the other boys kicked a ball around in the field out back, and the girls sat on the front steps, giggling and sharing their lunches. You looked at them a moment, almost longingly- their long hair tied up with ribbons, and pretty dresses with puff sleeves. That could never be you again. It felt like you were tied to your male facade forever. Sometimes, it felt natural. You were just being yourself really, gender didn't have much to do with it. But sometimes it was difficult, like when Marilla pokes fun at how you're "unusually tidy" for a boy, or when you accidentally let out a girlish scream upon coming across a mouse in the barn. Sometimes you felt guilty, too. You would suddenly feel the weight of lying to everyone all at once.

"You look like you might want some company."

A familiar, calm voice derailed your train of thought. "Oh, yeah. Sure." You smiled, moving over a bit to maintain personal space between you and Gilbert. There was a momentary awkward silence, and you idly leafed through the pages of your book as if to find where it was you left off, even though you already knew. Suddenly you stopped, and looked up at him. "Hey, thank you again. For what you did at the picnic."

"It was no problem," He chuckled lightly, taking an apple out of his lunch bag. "Billy always likes to haze the new boys. It's how he initiates them, you aren't the first."

Oh. Not the first. For some reason that statement felt quite heavy and disappointing.

"Personally, I think the whole thing is stupid." He continued, taking a bite of his apple. You didn't answer, and scanned the same line in your book over and over to look busy. It was pretty hard to focus on reading with him around, for a reason you couldn't understand. He cleared his throat. "So, what are we reading?"

You looked up at him, slightly flustered. "Oh, uh, Tolstoy. Anna Karenina."

"I don't think I've read that one yet. Is it any good?" he mused.

"Oh, extremely. Unrequited love, tragedy, all the good stuff." You grinned softly, looking down at the yellowed pages instead of making eye contact. "Once I'm finished, you could borrow it. I mean, if you want to."

A soft grin slid over Gilbert's features. "Yeah, I'd like that. Thank you."

The two of you were engrossed in chatter for the rest of the lunchtime interval, and whispered back and forth for the majority of the class period. He told you about his family, and you told him about the Cuthberts and how you were liking it here in Avonlea. He told you that his father's favorite poem was Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman, and you told him that you had a beautiful book of poetry that he just had to borrow. You had a warm, fluttery feeling in your stomach- surely just because you were excited to finally have a friend.

As the school bell rang for the day and everyone filed out, you heard Gilbert calling to you from across the courtyard as he walked with his friends. "Hey Oliver, I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow." You smiled, waving goodbye to him.